"Well, a lot of this is hearsay, you understand," Bill says, "The bar itself is below ground level. Above that are some private rooms and the owner's quarters. The bar itself is neutral ground of a sort - any disputes are supposedly left at the door. The owner's got people to enforce the peace, but they're not generally needed. Non-drow aren't specifically banned, but the place isn't set up for them, and they're definitely made to feel unwelcome."

Thurimar's brow furrowed as he took all of this in. Normally he wouldn't disapprove of such an establishment. It sounded much like his favourite drinking spot, after all. On the other hand, anywhere with a predominantly drow clientele was bound to have a fair share of shadowy dealings. The fact their contact had come back from there in an odd state and then disappeared only reinforced his opinion.

Well, it seemed like there was little choice. If nothing else, their presense might be able to make the less restrained scum in this ordeal reveal themselves. Stifling a sigh, he said to Bill, "Well then, lead the way."

And so Bill takes the lead, pausing briefly to make sure he hasn't left anything important behind. The landlord watches them suspiciously as they leave, but makes no attempt to impede them.

Bill's route takes them towards what some term the mercenary quarter - a place where one can hire just about any kind of skilled hand. For the right price, of course. A fitting district for those drow who've chosen to make Doma their home. And soon enough, he points out their destination. Although it's still mid-afternoon, those windows visible have their blinds firmly drawn. The entrance itself is down a short flight of steps, shaded by the bulk of the building.

There doesn't seem to be much traffic at the moment, and it's difficult even to say if the bar's open. Still, there's one way to find out.

"So," he said quietly, looking to his other two compatriots. "I say we go in, order a few drinks, and tip well. If we find any friendly faces that we can ask about Lanat, we'll claim he owes us some money, in case anyone else is listening in. Do either of you have any other ideas before we go inside?"

The dwarf doubted they'd find any friendly faces within. Then again, this was Doma City, which was widely known as being a melting pot of exceptions. Thurimar himself was a dwarf who belonged to the faith of Falis, a deity predominatly viewed as an elven one.

"Nothing for now, though I expect the shadows of this place hold more than casual evesdroppers, given the nature of our friend's disappearance."

The bar proves to be much like you'd expect. Rather gloomy, numerous tables fairly sparsely populated, given the time of day. A well stocked bar at the back, and presumably more private rooms out the back.

It takes a few seconds for peoples' eyes to adjust, but when they do, it's apparent that they're the centre of attention. The looks they're receiving aren't precisely hostile, but it's clear that non-drow are something of a rarity here.

Nezetta, perusing the room, gets the disturbing sense that one of those drow is looking at them with recognition in his eyes. He's ensconced at a table by the wall, with a couple of cronies. He meets her eyes briefly, then breaks eye contact, taking a sip of his drink.

Alonso and Thurimar, meanwhile, have spotted a familiar face; one that definitely shouldn't be here. Seated at a table of his own, cntemplating the drink in front of him, is Elliss, the Nakibean priest who they could have sworn they left locked up at the temple of Falis.

Though taken by surprise at first, the drow soon returns his attention to the others gathered at his table. Outfitted in the garb of the middle-class, with the only bit of ostentation a pair of ornate gloves, he keeps an eye at the goings-on at the bar out the corner of his eye. His white hair hangs low, with the point of his ears just peeking out. Sipping at his drink, he notices it's running a bit low, and he signals for one of the passing barmen for a refill. He speaks up to the gathered party around him in Drow, chuckling at his compatriot's just-finished anecdote.

"=You truly faced two tyrants yourself, and lived to tell the tale? Oh, and let us hear you spin another one.="

"Well," begins Elliss, "In the beginning was pure chaos. Then came structured chaos, and the gods. One thing led to another, and here we are. Honestly," he continues in a despairing tone, "what do they teach you at that temple, anyway?" If Elliss is in the least bit bothered by the group's arrival, he's not showing it.

"Oh, that," Ellis says cheerfully, "The trick is to pretend you've gone mad. This is actually more difficult than it sounds, since your average layman assumes that in order to worship Nakibe, you must already be mad. Then they send a psychiatrist in to see you, and you knock them out and take their place. At this point, a flaw became apparent in my plan, as my particular psychiatrist was not, in fact, blue."

Elliss shakes his head at the vagaries of a harsh and uncaring world, "Still, improvisation is an art form, and I was able to use the sheets on my bed to disguise myself as a ghost. Of a psychiatrist. Doomed to wander the land of the living until I might comprehend the vagaries of the female mind. And also prise my fee from my last client, who had assumed that as I had died of a heart attack, he didn't need to pay me."

Oblivious to Thurimar's mounting fury, he awkwardly manoeuvres his glass up to his lips and takes a sip, "Shockingly, despite the thought I had put into my backstory, the priests were not fooled. It could have had something to do with their failure to exorcise me. In hindsight, perhaps I should have disguised myself as laundry. But that would have been far too cliched."

"Thankfully, my cover story of being mad continued to hold, and I was able to steal one of the guards' keys as they escorted me back to my cell. Granted, I was now in a strait jacket, but this was a minor inconvenience. Back at home, of course, I would be able to rely upon the giant moths, upon which our numerous giant spiders feed, to chew through the cloth of my garments. I have lost many a favourite sweater to them. Alas, your feeble surface moths would take an age to accomplish anything meaningful."

"Now armed with a set of keys, I settled in to wait for the priests' time of maximum distraction - Bingo Night. From there, it was all plain sailing."

Thurimar didn't quite know how to respond. Well, in truth he knew exactly how to respond. Go over there, beat the vile heretic into submission and cart him back the temple. He was just having trouble overcoming his seething fury and actually taking action.

"=More than that,=" one of his companions says, studying the group thoughtfully, "=He has friends with a price on their heads.="

"Don't even think about it,=" the other drow says firmly, "=No amount of money is worth getting tangled with the Llothites.="

"=True,=" the first drow says after a moment's further study, "=Besides, that female looks positively vicious. And you know what they can be like if you cross them...="

Like it or not, the scene in the centre of the room seems to have drawn in a great deal of attention. Some of it amused, some of it not so much. Aside from the three drow at the table, there are seven customers scattered about the room, as well as the bartender and a couple of waiters. And Elliss, of course. If they decide to come to his defense, things could get very ugly.

On the other hand, he is a Nakibean priest. It's a fair bet nobody actually likes him.

He's definitely intrigued by this comment, but he still sits calmly, continuing to half-watch them.

"=I'd have to agree, more likely than not, not worth the trouble...but they're involved with the Llothites, you say? What are they, escaped slaves? I can imagine it must be fairly high if they let an orc get away.="

This was one of the most idiotic things he's done in his life. And that's saying a lot.

He stepped quickly besides the dwarf, and said quietly, "Calm yourself. I doubt your god would appreciate us getting in a barroom brawl before the days over, eh?" Lowering his voice to a whisper, he said, "I promise, you'll have your time soon enough. Just a little more patience, if you can."

Besides, he thought worriedly, we may need you to save your rage for the other customers here...

Despite the tension he felt inside, though, he put on his best facade of icy coolness and calm, before sitting down right in front of Elliss as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Looking him straight in the eye, he said in a low, almost friendly sounding voice, "Our friend here isn't the only one who has a reason to be angry at you. Humor us why don't you, and give us a few good reasons why we shouldn't pull the priests away from their game. I'm not saying we will, mind, but surely someone like you has some trick up your sleeves." He then gave the drow a soft smile; a bit of arrogance on his part, or something to mislead onlookers?

"Well, I suppose I could help you with information," Elliss says, leaning back comfortably, "After all, if my fellow god-botherer is anything to go by, you weren't expecting to find me here. Which leads me to wonder what brings you to our little den of iniquity."

"=Something about meddling in their affairs,=" the drow shrugs, "=You know what they're like. Must've been something pretty bad though, because they want them alive, rather than just dead. The dwarf and the swordsman, at least. No word on the other two.="

The other drow makes vague shushing motions, obviously intent on listening in on the conversation. An attitude seemingly prevalent about the room. A great many people seem interested in Alonso's answer to the priest's question.

Alonso clenched his teeth for a moment, and couldn't help but think on how much of this madman's demeanor was natural, and how much was purposly calculated to anger everyone around him. Damming up his frustration, he speaks again in that same neutral, quiet drawl, "I, personally, came in for a drink, and to learn more about what the people in this city do for a good time. However, I'm surprised at just how popular we are...and I heard you got all sorts in this place. Still, I suspect you'd know more than we would about that." As much as Alonso wanted to strangle him right now (or at least, add on to Nezetta's commentary), the truth was that the priest was the closest thing they had to an ally in this place. The least I can do he reasoned to himself, is see if he's able - and willing - to give us anything useful.

At the very least, he might be able to bore the surrounding drow into minding their own business.

"Oh, indeed," Elliss says, "Everyone here has their story to tell. Some come in search of profit, others in search of a fresh start, and some are simply passing through. That's the great thing about an open society - You get all sorts coming and going. A multitude of different viewpoints and philosophies being espoused. Did you know," he remarks, "That you can find a temple to any one of the gods here, if you know where to look."

In the absense of some flash-point to trigger an explosion of violence, conversation gradually returns to the room. The group are still receiving the odd look, but the drow aren't listening in quite so blatantly anymore.

Perhaps in response to some unseen signal, a waiter approaches the table, pad in hand to take down their orders.

Noticing the waiter, Alonso glances over him, looking for any signs of his current demeanor. He clears his throat, and says, "A mug of cider, if you will." While he doesn't exactly trust the beverages here, it would probably be for the best to act natural and spend a few gil. As for the others, they could shrug off the drink however they saw fit.

Alonso took ignored his drink for a moment, and said, "Everyone has a story, hm? Even a few mercenaries looking for an easy target? Or maybe some of your fellow, what did you call them, 'god-botherers'?"

"Oh, undoubtedly," Elliss says, "It may not be a sympathetic story, but it's a story nonetheless. Your hypothetical mercenary's motivations likely come down to money in the end. We god-botherers tend to have deeper motivations, though oftentimes even less sympathetic. It all depends on which set you're dealing with."

Elliss's grin widens, "Harrassing the Llothites is practically one of the commandments of the faith. Or at least it would be if we had commandments of the faith. We're not big on rules, you know. I daresay they'd feed me to the spiders on principle. Then again, they tend to do the same to anyone they get their hands on who isn't one of the faithful."

His expression sobers somewhat, "I take it you've lost somebody to their depredations?"

"Well, then," the grin is back, somewhat ominously, "I always find the best way to get answers is to ask questions."

"Everybody, if I could have your attention, please," Elliss says, raising his voice so that the whole tavern can hear, "Is anybody here working for the Llothites?"

Dead silence greets this.

"No? How about the Nikuumians?"

More silence.

"I don't suppose anyone's working for me?"

If anything, the silence deepens.

"Worth a shot," Elliss says ruefully, before pivoting to face one of the patrons, seemingly at random, "Paratiikas, I know you work for the Llothites..."

There is a sharp collective intake of breath, then all hell breaks loose. The accused drow bolts upright and makes for the door, as do his two companions. Other drow around the room likewise leave their seats, many pulling weapons.

The path of the fleeing drow will take them pretty close to the table of the gloved drow and his companions, who seem a hair slow in reacting.